Journal

Thursday, June 30, 2011

"What can I do ya for?" It was the voice of heaven. She smiled and the world melted. Her teeth were the brightest thing in the room. Damian felt as though he'd been painted by a spotlight.

Free, he thought. Or was that Inigo again? His mind stumbled all over itself.

There had been a lilt in her voice, hadn't there? Surely there had been a lilt. And there had been words, but what were they? Don't fail me, brain!

She continued to smile, but one booted foot begin to tap. Even her impatience was sexy. Damian felt jealous of the grimy laminate floor.

She spoke again. "You were the one hollerin' for a barkeep, weren't you?"

It was a light lilt, just enough to make Damian think of her tongue. He tried his best not to drool. Dark chocolate eyes swept from side to side as if one of the other patrons might lay claim to the summons.

Ha, Inigo laughed. It worked, did it not?

A group of men to his right looked as if they just might seize the opening. Panic gripped Damian as he realized his chance might be slipping by. Thinking quickly, he formulated a proper reply.

"Uh," he said.

He immediately regretted it.

Her renewed smile was salve to the burn on Damian's face. "C'mon, darlin'. Did you want something to drink or not?" It was the third time she'd spoken to him.

Quickly, Inigo whispered, repeat after me: I apologize, but your beauty has momentarily disarmed me. What would the lady suggest?

Damian parroted, his mind still mostly blank. To his surprise, the boot stopped. The bartender giggled; Damian's heart bubbled.

Her amused eyes pinned him down. "I'll give you points for originality. How about the seasonal ale?"

Damian nodded.

His eyes followed her as she bounced away. With casual familiarity, the young woman flipped a glass up, caught it, and then slid it under the tap. Beer frothed forth, golden and inviting. She tipped the foam from the top and then danced back. When the beer was beneath his nose, Damian looked up to find her sizing him up.

"Was that a Spanish accent I detected?" she asked.

Crap. "That depends," he said. Inigo was nowhere to be heard, now.

She raised a dark eyebrow. "On?"

"Have you ever been to Spain?"

She shook her head, setting her curls a-flutter. "No, but I think I'd like to."

"Me too," Damian admitted.

It is not all that and a plate of patatas fritas, Inigo grumbled.

She giggled again, genuinely pleased. The corners of Damian's mouth soared. He took a sip of ale to calm himself and hide his idiot grin. When he set the beer back on the counter, he was wearing what he hoped was simply a friendly and inviting smile. Smooth would be too much to ask.

"I'm Damian," he named himself, extending a tentative hand.

She took it. Her skin was silk. Damian held it expectantly.

She cocked her head over her shoulder. "Genny."

Her name was displayed on a hanging placard above a half filled tip jar. It had been handwritten. Both the leading and trailing letters were embellished with swirls. Damian felt his stomaching mimicking them.

With a quick squeeze, she broke contact, heading to the other end of the bar. Her departure was like ripping off a bandage. Suddenly, the pain that had brought him in came crashing back. Damian sipped his beer. He watched as Genny served the group of boisterous men. He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't shaking any of their hands.

His satisfied smirk warred with the recently ripped hole inside of him. Was he here to bury an old love or chase fruitlessly after a new one? Seemed like there were some decisions to be made, despite his intentions.